...

This was not a random human being, someone off the street, but a representative of that massive glowing orb known as the music industry. Bands were like sperm, trillions of them hurtling towards some half-imagined goal, and the music industry was the egg, refusing access to all but the fewest. And it was also like the vagina, filled with acids that killed the weakest bands. Here we were at Muggs, in Williamsburg, meeting a man with a ponytail who could guide us through the vaginal canal. I looked over at Katherine, who was smiling and nodding.

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